


With Great Power Comes a Great Need to Protect Your Sort-of Boyfriend From Hostile Aliens

by bejesusness



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Constructive Criticism Welcome, M/M, this was supposed to be cute and fun but then it got kind of serious, unmasking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bejesusness/pseuds/bejesusness
Summary: Garak has known Agent Impossible for a year, but the superhero keeps his identity closer to his heart than his feelings for him. When a villainous plot threatens Agent Impossible's life, his safety and anonymity are both in danger.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	1. Garak

Garak stood on his balcony, looking out at what little of the city he could see from the second storey. It was Thursday, which meant Agent Impossible was out patrolling New York. There were seven members in the local superhero team, the Defiants, so they used the obvious rota—each one was responsible for a different day of the week. Generally, Garak didn’t care for superheroes—they were either too optimistic, too naive, too preachy, or too cheerful. Or some dreadful combination of the four. But he did have a unique interest in a certain Agent Impossible.

It all started about a year ago. Garak was at a bar. He usually only ever imbibed in the comfort of his own home, and had ever since this incident, but on this particular day, he was feeling unusually manic. His party mood cancelled out his common sense. Of course, before Garak could even finish his kanar, a mean-looking, drunken brute stepped up and started causing trouble. At first, only goading him and pushing him around a bit, but before he knew it, xenophobic slurs were being flung at him from all around and he was being punched in the face and the gut and the back. Garak could have easily broken every arm and leg in that bar, but the bartender, who was pointedly ignoring the beating in front of him, would have certainly called the police if Garak managed a full turnaround in the fight. And Garak couldn’t afford a run-in with the cops.

He managed to escape into the alley, but didn’t notice the man following him with a gun. Luckily, Agent Impossible did and tackled his pursuer to the ground. Once he had the man’s gun, the hero tucked it into his utility belt then whacked him across the head with the palm of his hand and growled at him to “ _ Get out of here _ .”

Garak stared at the superhero in front of him. He couldn’t not. The man’s suit was hideous. Each member of the Defiants, Garak would learn later, had a specific color designated to them which featured heavily on their costumes. Agent Impossible’s was blue. A dull, dusty blue that no one in their right mind would pair with the bold black base of the design for fear of making the wearer look like a giant bruise. Perhaps that was part of the tactic they used to discourage crime. Wear exceptionally horrid outfits and then no one would want to partake in criminal activity for fear of having to look at them.

“Not very heroic of you to slap that poor man like that,” Garak said flatly, somehow unable to imbue the words with the sarcasm he’d intended. 

Agent Impossible sighed. “I don’t believe in violence, especially not as punishment, but you and I both know that if I took him to the police, he’d be right out the door with barely a slap on the wrist. Besides, xenophobic assholes like that deserve far worse than me trying to slap some sense into them.”

“Ah. So you heard.”

“I caught the tail end of the fight, yeah. Rushed over as quick as I could.” Agent Impossible reached a hand toward Garak’s face, not quite touching, but close enough that Garak could tilt his head a few degrees and feel the full silky warmth of the hero’s gloved palm. “May I?” he asked.

Garak nodded, not quite sure what he was agreeing to. 

Agent Impossible pulled back for only a second, only long enough to remove his glove. Then he touched his bare, soft fingers to Garak’s swollen cheek. There was a slight tingle that ran over his facial ridges as the pain ebbed away. Or maybe that was just from him blushing. “Where else did they get you?” the superhero asked softly.

“I believe I may have a broken rib or two,” Garak said reluctantly, and to his surprise, lifted his shirt when Agent Impossible gestured to it in silent request. The hero pressed his fingers to different places around Garak’s torso, that tingly feeling left behind everywhere he touched. 

“They were only cracked,” Agent Impossible said, “but you’re fine now.”

“So,” Garak said as the hero healed his back, “your mutant power is healing.”

“Among other things,” Impossible said tightly. Apparently, he didn’t like to talk about his powers. So they talked about other things. Agent Impossible started flirting. Garak flirted, quite openly ( _ outrageously! _ ), right back. He blames that matter on his being quite tipsy at the time. But he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t debate the moral implications of vigilante justice as Agent Impossible escorted him home.

After that first thrilling encounter, Garak had searched exhaustively to discover the man’s true identity, ultimately, to no avail. The mask covered his entire head, obscuring any identifying features. The padding in his suit—especially obvious around the shoulders and chest—concealed his natural body shape within. His universal translator was outfitted with a voice modulator so no one could hear his true voice unless they were  _ very close _ . Garak had been close enough to hear the charming British lilt only a handful of times over the past year. Which, to be fair, was probably more than any other person in the city had. 

At least, Garak hoped that was the case, because now, every Thursday after Agent Impossible went off duty, he’d stop by Garak’s apartment before heading home. Some people might find it odd, chatting and arguing with a masked man as he relaxed out of his professional persona and healed any wounds he’d acquired during the night, but it was the highlight of Garak’s week. And if he was lucky, Agent Impossible would have to remove his gloves for some reason, revealing his warm brown hands. And lately, he’d even pull his mask up enough to enjoy a cup of Tarkalean tea while he discussed literature with Garak. (After a few weeks, they’d begun to exchange book recommendations). Of course, Garak was likely to be distracted by such images—he’d lost more than a few arguments that way—but it was more than worth it to see Agent Impossible’s velvety pink lips caressing Garak’s teacup.

They’d become quite close in all the time they’ve spent together, but even after all that, Garak still hadn’t the faintest clue as to the man’s true identity. But, he supposed, even if he didn’t know who exactly this man was, he  _ knew who he was _ . Garak would even consider him a friend. And he had to admit, there was a certain allure to the anonymity. Garak often dreamed about what he’d find under that mask. _ Under that suit.  _

There weren’t many pleasures in Garak’s life, being a Cardassian living on Earth. Earth had opened its doors to all life and welcomed many aliens, but after the whole ordeal a few years ago with the Cardassian supervillain group, The Obsidian Order, Cardassians weren’t viewed too kindly, as Garak knew all too well. But Agent Impossible was his “light in the darkness” so to speak, even if that was a disturbingly heartening sentiment.

Garak regained his focus on the present when he spotted movement below and to the right. It was, of course, Agent Impossible, right on schedule. The hero bounded up the fire escape, and Garak extended a hand to him once he came within reach. Garak smiled, and he imagined Agent Impossible did the same beneath his mask. He escorted his friend inside. The hero had been here so many times, he no longer needed an invitation to collapse dramatically onto the couch as Garak strode over to the kitchenette to put on some water for tea.

“Tough day at work?” Garak asked.

“ _ Tedious  _ day at work,” the hero replied. “I spent nearly four hours helping a little girl look for her dog.”

“No evil plans for you to foil today? The city’s villains must be slacking.”

Agent Impossible snorted. “Maybe they all decided to retire.”

“Then you, my dear, would be out of a job.”

To Garak’s surprise, instead of a witty retort, Agent Impossible sighed and said, “Nothing would make me happier.”

That made Garak pause. “You don’t like being a superhero?” he asked.

“Not that. I mean, if there wasn’t any more crime or violence or accidents and I wasn’t needed anymore. That’s like, the ideal scenario. I’d gladly retire if that was the case.”

Agent Impossible always did have such saccharine morals. “So did you find it?” Garak asked.

“Find what?”

“The dog.”

“Oh, yes,” Agent Impossible said as he brightened out of his solemnity and became animated. “A delightful little beagle named Dandelion. He just turned a year old two weeks ago. You’ll never guess where-”

There was a low  _ fwoomsh _ that echoed in through Garak’s still open door to his balcony. Agent Impossible leaped off the couch and ran to the balcony, Garak close behind. They both stood there in shock. Garak had lived in New York for five years, but he’d never seen anything like this. The entire night sky seemed to be lit up with a big, gaping, glowing… something. A portal? And coming through the center were some sort of spaceships. A  _ lot of space ships _ . The wind picked up and carded through Garak’s hair. He could taste the metallic tang of space dust in the air.

“Shit,” Agent Impossible swore, startling Garak. “They’ve got the wormhole open.”

“Wormhole?” Garak asked, but didn’t receive an answer since Agent Impossible was too busy fiddling with his communicator.

“Agent Impossible to Ops,” he spoke into it. “There’s a situation in Midtown. I need backup ASAP. Request all hands on the scene. The Dominion’s here.”

Garak only had a passing familiarity with the Dominion, but he’d heard enough to know they were Bad News, especially for the local heroes. The Dominion was a group of alien supervillains who wanted to take over the galaxy or enslave humanity or some other overdone melodramatic nonsense. (Villains were so uncreative these days.)

Agent Impossible grabbed Garak’s shoulders and pushed him back into the house. He spoke slowly and clearly, “Stay here, lock the doors, keep away from the windows.” Garak got the distinct feeling that were he not wearing a mask that covered his lips, Agent Impossible would have kissed him goodbye. “Everything’s going to be okay,” he said then ran back out the door, jumped over the railing, and fell to the ground two storeys below. After a moment, Garak could see him running off into the epicenter of the invasion.

Everything was obviously not going to be okay. Garak had never heard Agent Impossible speak such an infuriatingly reassuring lie before, which meant this situation was serious. The question was, what was Garak going to do about it? Lock his doors, hide under his bed, and await the all-clear?

Garak grabbed a bag out of the back of his closet and his keys off the table and he ran out the front door. He immediately ran back inside and to the kitchenette to turn off the kettle. The last thing he needed was the building burning down while he was gone.

In all the years living in New York, Garak had never ridden his motorcycle. He drove it into the city then parked it in a little alcove behind his building, covered it with a tarp, and never looked at it again. A motorcycle gave anyone an air of competence and danger—a deadly combination, and a stigma he didn’t need. 

He didn’t really need the bike anyway. Everywhere he needed to go on a weekly basis—the market, the bank, the post office—he could get to easily on foot. Anywhere else, well, it wasn’t that much trouble to take the metro. He only kept the motorcycle in case of an emergency. He was thinking more along the lines of being ostracised by his neighbors to the point of violence and having to leave town quickly, but apparently, his secret superhero friend running off to fight a horde of alien villains all on his own was also an acceptable scenario for the bike's unveiling.

Garak shoved on his helmet, cranked the ignition, and shot off like a rocket. He weaved dangerously through the mass exodus of terrified civilians out of the city center until he saw Agent Impossible’s dark silhouette trying to fend off his enemies with what appeared to be a street sign somehow detached from the concrete. Agent Impossible wielded it like a tennis racket, whacking one invader after another. 

The motorcycle skidded to a halt. Garak flipped down the kickstand. One of the aliens made it past Agent Impossible and came running toward him. He reached into the bag strapped over his shoulder, pulled out a gun, and shot it. Then he shot another. And another. Garak looked around. Even with his help, there was no way Agent Impossible could hold off all of these attackers for long. Garak hoped the rest of the Defiants arrived soon.

And then suddenly, none of that mattered. Agent Impossible got overtaken by one of the aliens and thrown to the ground. He got right back up, but the fight immediately switched to their favor. 

Garak focused back on his dispatching of oncoming hostiles for a few seconds before glancing back at his friend. Agent Impossible was punched and kicked and pushed and scratched and punched. He held his own decently until he was shot with some kind of phaser weapon. 

At the clicking of his empty gun, Garak pulled out another and continued shooting with barely a break in the action. He turned back to Agent Impossible in time to see him stagger back, but before the hero could get his bearings, he suffered a bright red DO NOT ENTER to the chest as his unattended sign was ultimately used against him. Garak watched in horror as Agent Impossible flew backward then, with a sickening jangling sound, he bounced off a chain-link fence and his limp body collapsed to the ground. 

And didn’t get back up.

Garak, freezing at the horrid sight, relinquished control of his body to autopilot. He sprinted forward, shooting every alien that even looked at him funny and shoving straight through the rest. It appeared that if he wasn’t actively standing in the way of whatever it was they were trying to accomplish here, they left him well enough alone.

He approached the spot where Agent Impossible laid, beaten and bloody. 

Really bloody.

How much blood was too much for a human to lose?

“Agent Impossible?” Garak called. He knelt down and gently rolled him over to his back to try and assess the damage. The phaser wound near the top of his left arm was oozing blood, and there was blood seeping through a tear in his mask, likely where his forehead connected with the pavement. Other than that, he had no way of knowing how bad the situation really was. He couldn’t even tell if Agent Impossible was breathing. Garak called his name a few more times and still received no answer.

He would have to remove the mask.

Garak gripped the fabric at the base of Agent Impossible’s neck and began to slowly pull up, so as not to jostle his head more than necessary. Inch upon inch of once warm golden-brown skin, now equal parts bruised and pallid, was revealed. A mouth, blood spattering the edges. A nose, curving off to the side in a way that it shouldn’t. And two eyes, both closed.

Garak threw the mask to the side, already forgotten. What he needed to do first was check for a pulse.

How does one check a human’s pulse?

Considering that humans aren’t  _ too different _ from Cardassians, Garak decided to check the way he would for one of his own kind. He put his fingers to Agent Impossible’s temple, the side that wasn’t gushing blood, right next to where his ridges would intersect if he had any. He didn’t feel anything. He panicked and pressed a little harder.

Agent Impossible groaned and fluttered his eyelids.

“My dear,” Garak cried. “You had me quite worried for a moment there.”

“Garak,” Agent Impossible greeted with a weak smile gracing his lips. His hazy brown eyes took a moment to focus on Garak’s face hovering above him. “I don’t feel too good,” he said.

“I’d imagine,” Garak said, brushing the hero’s hair from his forehead. “You took a couple of rough hits.”

“Yeah,” Agent Impossible said, as if he’d just remembered that himself. “I did.”

“Where’s the rest of your team? When will they be here?”

“My team?”

Garak was starting to worry again. “The Defiants?” he said. “Wonder Worm? Constable Justice? Silver Blade? Warp Core? Major Crush? That other one I don’t like? Tech something?” Garak, of course, remembered all of their names. He just needed to see if Agent Impossible did as well.

“Techno Mech,” the hero corrected. It seemed he hadn’t lost his memory. Was it just a touch of confusion?

“Yes,” Garak approved, “That’s it. You need one of them to take you home. Or to your base, or wherever it is you go. You need to get somewhere to heal properly.”

“I’d like _for_ _ you _ to take me home.”

Under less dire circumstances, Garak would have loved to hear Agent Impossible say those words. However, seeing as this was an emergency, he tonelessly stated, “I don’t know where you live.”

“That’s okay,” Agent Impossible said, revealing a wobbly smirk. “We can go back to your place.”

“Agent Impossible,” Garak said sternly, “this is serious. You have to focus.”

He made a face. “Hmm. I can’t. I think I’m in shock. No… maybe it’s a concussion? Shit, how do my eyes look?” 

Garak blinked, not sure exactly what he was asking. “Uh, brown?”

“Brown,” Agent Impossible repeated astonishedly. “I can’t remember what to do when the patient’s eyes are brown.”

“Alright. I’m taking you to my apartment.” Garak reached down to pick him up—one arm under his knees, the other moving toward his neck-

“No, wait!” Garak froze. Agent Impossible reached a hand up to the side of his neck. After a moment, he said, “Ok, my neck’s not broken, it's safe to move me.”

Garak wondered in horror if that meant he was only checking if it was broken and it wasn’t, or if his neck had been broken and he had just healed it. He didn’t have the first clue as to how Agent Impossible’s healing powers worked. 

He carefully lifted the hero off the ground, making sure to support his head, and carried him back to the motorcycle. He sat with Agent Impossible on his lap facing him. It wasn’t safe in the slightest, but it was the only way he could think of to be sure his passenger didn’t fall off.

“Here, lean against me,” Garak instructed the dozing hero.

Agent Impossible whimpered into his shoulder.

To be honest, going to the hospital didn’t even register as a possibility until Garak was already a block from home. Not that it was much of an option to begin with. Garak had been around long enough to know that you didn’t take a masked man to the hospital, regardless of what side they fought on. The doctors would find out your real identity, then from there, you were on the public record. Not many heroes (or villains) lasted long after that.

Upon arriving at his building, Garak let his motorcycle fall to the ground and fumbled his keys twice, having too few hands to support the dead weight of a semiconscious superhero and unlock the door at the same time. He practically kicked the front door in as he entered his shop on the ground floor. Garak ran straight to the back, where he came to a door. It had a cherry red stain where the rest of the shop was honeyed oak, but the wood was aged and the hinges slightly rusted around the edges, suggesting that it was the last relic of the shop that existed before Garak moved in and remodeled. 

At least, it seemed that way until Garak keyed in a code on the control panel beside it and the door swung open, revealing a lift. He rode it down to the basement level, adjusting Agent Impossible’s weight once on the way to keep from dropping him. The lift doors slid open to a cool metallic workroom covered in computer terminals and control pads. Gadgets were laid out across countertops; schematics tacked up on the walls. A long table in the center held various parts to some sort of device that was halfway assembled. Garak swept the pieces off the table—they bounced across the floor in all directions—and laid Agent Impossible down in the center. 

“Computer,” Garak called as he ran to a shelf in the back and pulled out a medical kit, “Run medical diagnosis.” He’d have liked to rely on Agent Impossible healing himself, but considering the state he was in and Garak’s lack of knowledge about his powers, he chose to err on the side of caution and do what he could now to help fix him up.

The computer beeped in affirmative and started running analyses. Garak began unzipping Agent Impossible’s super suit in order to get to the wounds beneath. Agent Impossible muttered something and tried to grab at Garak’s hand.

“Not now, my dear,” Garak chided.

“Diagnosis complete,” the computer stated. 

Garak turned to look at the big screen behind him. “Reorganize results by severity: highest to lowest.” He scanned the new listing. “Computer, run a search: how to treat head wounds in human patients.”


	2. Julian

Julian Bashir woke slowly, as if he had to drag his consciousness through a vat of taffy in order to arrive at full awareness. And the closer he got to his goal, the greater the pain in his head stabbed at him. He tried to perceive what the cause of it was so he could heal it, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. 

He blinked his eyes open.

The lights were dimmed, but the various screens that covered the walls gave off enough ambient lighting to be able to see everything clearly enough. He wasn’t in a hospital. The space around him wasn’t clinical enough. It felt more conducive to creation, like a workshop of some sort. 

There was an arrhythmic scritching noise coming from his right. Julian turned his head enough to see where it was coming from, and for his trouble, a sharp pain was stabbed through his head. A dull groan was pulled from his throat.

“Ah, awake at last,” Garak said with a gentle smile. “Good.” He flipped his sketchpad around and held it so Julian could see, but he couldn’t focus on any of the images. “I’ve been doodling some new designs for your costume,” he explained. “I tried to fix your old one, but I’m afraid it’s too far gone to be saved at this point. I’m a very good tailor, but even I can’t work miracles.” Garak set down his book and pencils on the counter behind him. “But that’s not important right now. How are you feeling?”

Julian took a moment to assess the damage. Besides the headache, there was an ache that caressed his entire body. It peaked at the top of his right arm. There was also a wooziness about his head that made him want to go back to sleep for about another week. “Awful,” he said, feeling that pretty much summed it all up. 

Garak nodded solemnly. “I looked up how to treat human injuries online; it said sleep was important to the body’s healing. And since you weren’t healing like you usually do, l figured it was best to let you rest through the night. And the morning. I hope that was okay?”

“Yeah,” Julian said. “I can’t heal while I’m unconscious.” He knew this was sensitive information he was giving away. Information which, in the wrong hands, could get him killed. But he trusted Garak. Garak was the closest thing he had to a best friend. Sure, he had Miles and Jadzia, but even though they knew him in and out of uniform, they still didn’t get him the way Garak did. Julian would trust Garak with his life. In fact, it seemed as though Garak had saved his life. All evidence presented to him supported that idea—the parts of his body he could see all bandaged up, Garak sitting diligently by his bedside. He just couldn’t remember how he got there.

“So what happened?” Julian asked. “Was I hit by a truck or what?”

Garak, who wasn’t exactly smiling before, let his face drop to a grim angle. “The Dominion-”

“The Dominion!” Julian cried, suddenly remembering all of it. He bolted up, which was, of course, a mistake. He bent over the side of the cot he was lying in and threw up. He felt Garak rubbing between his shoulders and heard him whispering soft reassurances. Once Julian was finished, Garak gently pushed him back against the pillow and returned after a short few minutes holding a glass of water with a bendy straw. He helped Julian sit back up—slowly this time. As Julian sipped, Garak filled him in on the battle downtown. He turned one of the screens to a news station to corroborate his story.

Julian sat there for a moment, letting it all sink in. The important thing, of course, was that the Dominion was defeated. Or at least pushed back through the wormhole. 

Garak spoke up again, “You’re welcome to use my phone to call your teammates and let them know you’re okay. I’m not sure what happened to your communicator.”

“Right,” Julian said. “I’d like to try and heal up a bit more first.” He tried again to fix whatever it was going on in his head and groaned at the effort. “It’d be nice to have an actual diagnosis so I know what it is exactly I need to fix.”

“Hold on,” Garak said, then downloaded something from one of the monitors onto a PADD and handed it to Julian. It was a complete workup of his current medical condition. And the diagnoses were even organized by order of severity. 

“Thank you,” Julian uttered in awe. “This really helps.” He got to work immediately healing his head.

After a moment, Garak asked, “Is that why you became a doctor? To learn how things work so you’re able to put them back together properly?”

Julian raised a hand to his bare cheek, just now realizing that his identity was out in the open. He felt his heart speed up as the implications settled down upon his head.

Garak made an awkward half coughing sound, as if he wasn’t sure how to get his voice out properly. “Yes,” he eventually managed, “I’m afraid I had to remove your mask. You had quite the gash in your forehead. I…” He looked down, then off to the right, seemingly unable to meet Julian’s eyes. “I am sorry,” Garak said. “I didn’t mean to find out this way. If it makes you feel any better, I had no clue who you were until I ran a facial recognition search. Covertly, of course. I swear, no one else will know.” 

Julian waited, staring at him until their eyes met again and tried to force a smile. “Well, I suppose I can’t really be upset. If it weren’t for you, I could have died.”

“Oh,” Garak replied, one eyeridge shooting up, “so you do realize that running off on your own to fight an army of aliens was a bad idea that could have gotten you killed?”

Julian sighed. “Garak, you don’t understand. I’m a superhero. It’s my job to fight evil and protect the city.”

“And how are you going to do that when you’re dead? No, Julian,” he put emphasis on the name Julian hadn’t given him. “I know you. I know you’re intelligent. Clever. And unlike many heroes these days, you actually do have common sense. You could have waited a few minutes until your team got there, but instead, you chose the suicide mission.”

Julian felt heat begin to rise in his chest—and not the good kind that he usually felt when he was around Garak. He didn’t actually accuse Julian of anything, but he felt thrown on the defensive regardless. “A few minutes could have made the difference of a few hundred lives. It was the middle of the city, Garak. There were civilians out there.”

“There will always be casualties. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself in their stead.”

“I’m a hero,” Julian spat, gesturing with his one semi-good arm. “I know right from wrong and I will always choose to do the right thing. I will always do what I can to save a life. If I can’t, then what good am I? What was it all for?”

Garak froze, his eyes focused on Julian. Calculating. “What was all of what for?”

“Nothing,” Julian dismissed, all emotion seeming to drain out of him with the slip. Normally he would try to artfully, inconspicuously steer the conversation in a different direction, but right now, he just didn’t have the energy. “I think you’ve learned enough of my secrets for one day.”

“Yes, well, fair’s fair,” Garak shrugged, “considering you now know my secret.”

Julian blinked. Apparently, he had one emotion left—surprise. “Your secret?” he asked.

“All the clues are around you, Julian,” Garak said, gesturing around the room. “You simply need to piece them together.”

And so Julian looked, his eyes clearer now without the pounding of his head blurring the edges of his vision. He once again took in the screens monitoring everything from his current condition to a local newsfeed to Garak’s tailor shop and apartment, the schematics for various devices and buildings taped to the walls, the ominous-looking gadgets littering the counters, the shelves holding bits and pieces of metal and vials of chemicals and bottles of unknown substances. 

It was cold and sterile, but it wasn’t a hospital. It was high-tech, but it wasn’t the Defiants’ base. Garak was here, but it wasn’t his home. It wasn’t anywhere Julian had been to before, although it did feel familiar to him. Too familiar and too menacing and suddenly Julian found it hard to breathe through the memories. Memories of a young boy, scared and confused and not special enough for his parents.

Julian took a deep breath and then another and then his eyes landed on something in a cupboard in the corner, the door thrown open as if it was accessed in a hurry and promptly forgotten, but considering that everything else in the room was in pristine condition, he doubted it was a simple slip of the mind. Garak left it open on purpose.

Julian moved to the edge of the cot, taking the hand that was offered to him to help him get up. He glanced up at Garak. His face was a blank mask betraying nothing. Julian shuffled over to the corner of the room, not yet vibing with the whole idea of walking. Or even being vertical. But he powered through it. He had to see what that black shiny thing was. As he reached it, he recognized it immediately. Suddenly, it all came together.

Julian was in a place that looked like some sort of budget hero base. He was in a place that was familiar to Garak. Garak supposedly revealed to him a secret. 

And boy, was it a big one.

The helmet of one of the most famous villains of the past twenty years sat exposed on the shelf before him.

“You’re Mister Obsidian,” Julian almost whispered it, completely awestruck. “You were with the Obsidian Order. One of the most powerful, highest-ranking members.”

Garak made a noncommittal humming noise, which Julian took as a confirmation.

“Why did you stop?” Julian asked. “If you were such a great villain..?”

“I got kicked out of the Order and all of my fellow associates turned against me. I’m afraid my options were either quit and go into hiding, or be killed by an embittered ex-comrade. I, of course, chose self-preservation.”

“I see,” Julian said, still taking it all in. Really, it explained a lot. But a bigger question developed in his mind: what does a man have to do to get kicked out of a supervillain group? Was he too bad? Was he too good?

Julian had always suspected Garak had some sort of big secret he was hiding. He’d just thought he was some sort of spy, or worse, a reporter. But even knowing Garak had a dark past didn’t change Julian’s feelings. He knew the person Garak had become—the kind of person who would risk himself to save Julian’s life. Whether he was inherently bad or good didn’t matter so much. Garak’s choices—his actions—had always held more weight.

One such action, Garak wrapping his arms around Julian to keep him steady as he hobbled back to the cot, had Julian ducking to hide a smile. Once settled, he healed more of his wounds, and as soon as he was feeling up to it, borrowed Garak’s phone to let his team know he wasn’t dead. He got a lecture from the major, but he was too happy to hear from her to be any bit upset by it. Everyone on her end was all right—only a few nonlethal cuts and bruises. Things would be back to normal in no time at all.

Julian spent the rest of the afternoon at Garak’s, although they eventually moved up to his apartment where it was more comfortable. Garak was friendly the whole time, but quiet, only speaking when directly spoken to. It was a purely performative civility that Julian couldn’t stand. Garak cared about him—he’d proven that many times before. So why was he suddenly so distant?

“We’re okay, right?” Julian asked. “I mean, now that we know each others’ secret identities and everything? We’re still friends?”

After a moment, Garak hedged, “Is that what you want?”

“Of course.”

“I wasn’t sure you would.”

So that’s what this was all about. Garak was feeling insecure after revealing himself to Julian. And looking back, Julian never really reassured him about it earlier.

“I know this all happened in a bit of a rush,” he said, “and there was a lot all going on at once for a while there so maybe I didn’t get to say it properly, but I don’t mind that you used to be a villain. It’s who you are now that’s important.”

“Don’t let your personal feelings get in the way of common sense. I’m not some honorable, law-abiding do-gooder like you. Far from it, in fact.”

“I understand, Garak. I do. But it’s going to take a lot more than some questionable morals to get rid of me.” Julian bit his lip. “That is, if you still want me around.”

Garak smiled, and it was sharp and sweet and beautiful. “I would like nothing more.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus Info I Couldn't Shove Into The Main Story: 
> 
> The Defiants superhero team consists of:  
> 1) Kira Nerys. Hero name: Major Crush. She was born a mutant and she has super strength and like, earthquake powers. Her color is orange  
> 2) Odo. Hero name: Constable Justice. Born a mutant and his power is, of course, shapeshifting. His color is brown.  
> 3) Miles O'Brian. Hero Name: Techno Mech. Human. No powers, just a mech suit/robots. His color is yellow.  
> 4) Jadzia Dax. Hero name: Wonder Worm. No Powers, just a sword/batleth and science smarts. Also, she makes everyone's suits for them, or at least the high-tech material they're made out of. Her color is green.  
> 5) Worf. Hero Name: Silver Blade. No powers. He's the weapons expert. Color, of course, is silver.  
> 6) Ben Sisko. Team Leader. Hero Name: Warp Core (I couldn't think of anything better T.T) Born a mutant, powers are force field and energy manipulation. Color is red.  
> 7) Julian Bashir. Hero Name: Agent Impossible. Born a normal human, but became a mutant through genetic enhancement. Powers include healing (self and others) and super strength, speed, agility, intelligence, basically all the enhanced stuff he has in canon. His color is blue.
> 
> Garak. Villain Name: Mister Obsidian. Not a mutant- he the same skill set as canon Garak, just wears a better costume. The color of which, is a combination of matte and glossy blacks.
> 
> Anyway, let me know what you think!  
> Also if anyone wants to visit me on tumblr, I'm lesbian-space-fish.tumblr.com


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